


It's All In My Head (And I Can't Really Fix That)

by KillJoy998



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-30 23:24:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3955864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KillJoy998/pseuds/KillJoy998
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles doesn't have a sixth sense-- it's not how it works.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's All In My Head (And I Can't Really Fix That)

**Author's Note:**

> Just a place where I can put my modern day power-enthused one-shots about my X-Men pairings in this universe. They'll all be canon from each other, so each one-shot/part of the series will be related to each other, but they may not directly follow on. Just for some fun, and some feels, and all that. Fluff and possible angst, if I feel like it.
> 
> This one-shot is only Cherik, but there will be Hank/Pietro (my guilty pleasure, and at least I'm not the only one who ships it :) ) in the future and probably Jean/Scott.

_Telepathy_. It's not a sixth sense.

 

People tend to express that they understand it as one-- they insist they can empathise with the added sixth weight; the extra mass that does nothing but hurtle inside the interior system and tug desperately until the sole individual is swarmed with this desire to _feel_. Telepathy isn't... It's not something that crawls up on someone, Charles knows that, and he also knows that the people are just trying to help. They are trying to get inside mutants' heads and understand them more, and to him it's a good sign. A good _peaceful_ sign, but he also knows they don't.

 

Understand, he means. Humans can't relate to that extra weight, even if there isn't one, physically. They can't hold it in their own palms and insist that it's how the weight is supposed to feel. It's irrationally stupid, and Charles knows that too. Just like every other mutant who has this severe distaste to any individual who insists they understand it. And if they do, then that's terrific in a way that lets a guidance hang over the two people. But no, that's rare. Mutants are unique, special, it takes a lot of venturing and travelling to find one with almost the same power as yourself. It takes time, and effort, and along the way there is some sort of betrayal lurking in the shadows, luring you on dangerously. Charles tends to avoid that.

 

His mind isn't a sixth sense. It's not an extra weight that brings him closer to the gravitational force that's holding everyone in place. It's not something that he can feel automatically whenever he reaches out to hold something-- to _feel_ something. Sight, hearing, smell, taste, touch... They're all natural that can not  _not_ be felt. To him, he understands beyond the regime of mankind's understanding of the internal soul of a being that it is not how telepathy works. He's had to live years with it-- ever since he was a young boy... He hasn't _always_ been like that, surely, but then again, he believes that maybe he _had_. Maybe he had always known every shape and every crack and every little door to people's minds, unlocking and entering the small spaces that allow those people to be who they are. He's always done it. He recalls it; quite fondly, though he doesn't do it now. He believes in privacy, and he grants people just that.

 

He's old enough to be able to control it, in some respects.  People think in their own minds at their own pace, and what they are specifically thinking isn't any of Charles' business, but he's not the one who can lower the volume unless he gets _inside_ that person's mind, and he doesn't like  doing that. So he tries his best to rely on others; to rely on how they perceive their own imagination, and he hopes that one day everyone will be cautious about how loud they think. It'll save him the trouble of disinfecting his own mind in order to try and _ignore_ the noisy striking voices in his head that aren't even his own. It hurts, sometimes. Well, it's painful most of the time.

 

He loves peace and quiet. It's rarely ever granted to him, due to his mutant ability, but sometimes he's allowed those few moments of pure bliss. Sitting around the fire with absolutely no responsibilities with Erik-- no papers to mark for that term, nor any of his students needing help, and Erik doesn't have to leave home that day. _Their_ home; the thought never fails to bring a smile on his face.

 

They play chess in these moments, or they read in compatible silence, or they retire to the bedroom early to develop their understanding of each other in ways that are definitely their own. Unique. It's times like those when he allows himself a little peek inside of Erik-- the doors in his partner's mind used to be welded shut with no allowance, but he understood that in the beginning. He remembers the first time when that wasn't the case, when he had accidentally hit a previously locked door in uncharted territory,  and the metal shield just flew open on it's own accord, as if bumping into it was the only thing he needed to do in the first place. And the time after _that_ was even more remarkable, because everything was open plan except one door-- the door he would never open, even with a little bump of force, unless Erik was willing to share the information. Out loud.

 

Easing into Erik had been tremendously difficult; but Erik had been the only person he'd ever _wanted_ to get into, to experience everything that he experienced. He waited. For so long, he recalls now, but he also knows that the longest wait to something so treasurable had been worth _everything_.

 

Reminiscing in bed comforts Charles to the degree of actually feeling relaxed in a way that is the total opposite of how he awoke that morning; covered in terrified sweat with a pounding ache of pain, shooting down his spine and resting at the back of his thighs. The pain hadn't exactly subsided-- his legs still felt like they'd just collapse and shriek out in utter pain if he tried to walk on them now. It's why he hadn't moved from his spot on their bed ever since waking, despite the fact that he used to be such an early riser. Up at the crack of dawn, delving himself into work straight after a morning cup of coffee. Grading papers, supplying the upmost positive comments in the response boxes, as well as some useful advice on how to improve. He thinks himself to be a decent professor-- he loves every second of it, at least. His students work so hard for him, almost breaking down whenever they strike something they just can't seem to do and they're _so_ sorry for it _._ Charles almost wants to cry for them, sometimes, at the sheer admiration they clearly hold for him.

 

But no, it had been the end of the University's year a week ago, and so he still tries to get used to the fact that he doesn't have to get up at the crack of dawn, and he _can_ stay in bed just that little bit longer. Erik insists regularly that he deserves the break, and that he needs to start treating himself with extra books and maybe some more decent tasting coffee.

 

He shifts a little on his bed, his mind physically withering now as he turns in his sheets, finally opening his eyes properly to smile at the figure holding onto him. Erik never had been an early riser.

 

He curls his hand delicately upon Erik's cheek, as if dusting away the plague in one simple touch. His eyes do not stray from the sleeping body wrapped up around him, but his smile does get that little bit brighter.

 

"Wake up," he coaxed softly, brushing his thumb across the other man's cheek lovingly, "Come on, you need to get ready. Kids to see and all."

 

He laughs softly as his statement receives the opposite reaction of what he wants it to, feeling Erik almost turn away from him in disgruntlement.

 

Charles personally adores Erik's children-- right, no, okay, he adores _Wanda_. Pietro on the other hand... Well, honestly, the kid can get on his nerves when he wants to, which seems to be all the time. But the teen means no harm, and it's on rare occasions when he gets to see them anyway, so any visit is a good visit.

 

Erik secretly loves them too-- Charles doesn't bring the moments up, but sometimes he's lucky enough to witness when one of the hardest men brackets his teenagers into him, focusing his full attention on the kids that he doesn't see most of the time, allowing his son to poke at him and pester him about the most boring power ever of controlling _metal_ and smiling when Wanda shows how much she sways towards her father, tossing her childhood building bricks up into the air without doing it physically and with the only element that is her mind, and Charles has never seen one man look so _proud_ before. Of both of his children; even Pietro, which Erik really would not admit out loud.

 

He doesn't need to though, because Charles can see it. Inside and out, although he tends to stay out. He knows that Erik's kids play some sort of part in that door that used to be more protected than just welded shut, but he recalls now- all curled up in Erik's arms on a lazy Sunday morning- that the last time he saw it the door was only locked. Just locked. With some force he would have been able to get in, but doesn't dare do that. Doesn't _want_ to do that. He wants to wait. Wants to have that conversation with Erik.

 

"Oi," he mutters fondly, only a little bit louder than last time, adding a poke to his efforts, "Erik. Wake up."

 

Erik grumbles something incoherent for the second time, before he scrunches up his nose and yawns, letting Charles know he is definitely awakening. Charles laughs at the cute display, almost shifting to sit up a little.

 

"Nein," Erik hisses under his breath, his eyes still unwilling to open but his arms tightened around Charles' waist, encircling around him.

 

The movement stops Charles' attempts of sitting up properly, so he sighs pliantly before resuming to peacefully rest against him. "Careful, my love, as we really do need to get up soon."

 

"Soon," Erik agrees, eyes still being awfully stubborn, "But not yet."

 

Charles laughs quietly, the pain in his head subduing to the soothing attempts that lie within Erik's own mind. He really doesn't like prying, but Erik has gotten comfortable with the underlying force and knowledge that Charles is within his head, which makes the guilt also subside. But it also helps Charles-- he's never found solace in anyone else, and he rather focuses in on his own head to try and block out everyone else's thoughts, despite the fact that the tactic has been proven not to work. At all. The volumes of other's thoughts still plague his mind, still break him into tiny mad little pieces that make others fear he may be slowly turning insane. But times like this-- he has something to focus on. On a whim that controls his every being because he's _hurting_ , he allows himself to gently press his two fingers against Erik's warm forehead. The other man doesn't open his eyes, but he doesn't object, and Charles can feel the man pull him closer, so he takes it as an invitation. And just like that, he's _okay_ again.

 

He no longer hears the mailman's hatred of the dogs that hide in non-existent gardens, nor does he hear the tyrant screams of a couple tossing words at each other that Charles previously didn't know _existed_ , because now he was with Erik. Mentally and physically, and he loves that.

 

Loves nestling inside Erik's mind-- he doesn't poke or pry, but then he realizes in that moment he _can't_. There is only that one door left to open... Everything else is _there_. He feels it all, trickling like blood and water through each pulsing muscle inside Erik's brain.

 

Except, no extra weight.

 

 _Having fun?_ He hears, and he has to laugh because Erik is looking up at him with that adorable amused expression he tends to wear these days.

 

 _As always_ , he sends, to which he receives a laugh on the other end too, and how can this be a sixth sense? How can this drag him down?

 

It _is_ natural though, so he understands where the humans are coming from.


End file.
